


Occupational Hazard

by winnerstick



Series: Little Revolutionaries [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Kid Fic, Kid Grantaire, Preschool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:02:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winnerstick/pseuds/winnerstick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire didn't mean to get messy, it just sort of happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Occupational Hazard

“Grantaire, please try and stay clean today, alright?” Grantaire’s mommy said slowly, making sure Grantaire was taking in every word. She was down on one knee in front of him, straightening out her shirt, though she didn’t notice her own shirt was getting wrinkled from the way she was crouching. Grantaire, noticed, and he smiled at it, but his mom mistook that smile for something else entirely. “I mean it, Grantaire. Your grandma and grandpa are picking you up today, and Grandma would love to see you in the shirt she bought you, in _one piece_.”

 

Grantaire didn’t like this shirt, though. It was stiff and scratched his sides and it wasn’t nearly as soft and comfy as the t-shirts his mommy usually let him wear, and he would have _loved_ to try to get this one dirty. All the other times, it had been accidents, but this time he would do it on purpose. If his mommy wasn’t looking at him so seriously.

 

“I promise, Mommy,” he said, smiling at her and giving her a big hug.

 

She finally smiled back and ran her fingers through his hair as best she could, though she sighed when she ran into a tangle after only a few seconds. “I wish you would let me brush your hair.”

 

Grantaire shook his head. “Enjolras likes it curly.”

 

And that was that. She gave him another hug, stood up, and went off to work, while Grantaire joined his friends at his table in building blocks.

 

And he tried to stay clean, he really, really did.

 

\---

 

The first stain came at snack time.

 

It was Friday, so they got to choose their own seats, and Bahorel sat right next to Grantaire. Miss Hartman looked at them from across the room and sighed many times, as if she was trying to find a reason to split them up. For once, though, they were good. They just talked about what they were going to do at recess and ate their yogurt.

 

Everything went well, until it was time to clean up. Grantaire stood up, with a full plate of yogurt, because this kind tasted like glue. It was nothing like the kind his mommy bought him that actually tasted good and he ate at home. This kind was bad, and he didn’t understand how Bahorel could shovel this into his mouth and even ask Miss Hartman for seconds.

 

He was walking slowly, watching his plate carefully, because the paper had gotten wet and he didn’t want to spill it everywhere. The world was not on his side, though, because Bossuet was _not_ watching where he was going, and ran right into Grantaire at full speed, which pushed him into the trashcan and the plate of yogurt all over his shirt.

 

\---

 

The second stain happened at art.

 

They were painting today, and they were supposed to do pictures of their families, but Grantaire didn’t like painting what he was told. He never had artwork to turn into Miss Hartman, and as a result, she thought he didn’t like it. Or that he wasn’t very good, and that he was just throwing his pieces away instead of giving them to her. She was wrong, though, and if she had watched Grantaire, she would know that. Instead of begging him to actually paint so she had _something_ to put in his folder, she would realize that he loved art and was actually really good at it. He was the best in the class, even Marius said so. And Marius usually said that Cosette was the best at everything.

 

So he wasn’t painting what he was supposed to be painting. He was instead painting a picture of Enjolras, with his hair in braids like Jehan always did for him. He even included the Dandelions Jehan liked to decorate it with when Enjolras let him. They didn’t always show up so well, because yellow flowers in yellow hair didn’t really stand out, but Jehan was just working with the best he had, because Miss Hartman yelled at him last time he pulled the pretty pink flowers from their garden. Apparently he wasn’t supposed to do that.

 

He was wearing a smock, of course, because Miss Hartman always _tried_ to keep him as clean as possible, but it was impossible to keep Grantaire clean while painting. Miss Hartman thought he just didn’t care and was playing around, but Grantaire knew that when he ended up with paint on his face—that Miss Hartman told him to go wash off _right now_ —and down his sleeves, that meant he did a good job.

 

His mommy might not be happy about the yellow on the arms of his shirt, but Enjolras’ face lit up when Grantaire showed him the picture, so it was worth it.

 

\---

 

The third stain wasn’t a stain at all; it was a rip.

 

He and Bahorel were running in the grass, playing tag, when Grantaire ran into Musichetta. Musichetta turned around and frowned at him with one hand, the one holding her jump rope, on her hip, and the other one dangling at her side. Her head tilted to the side and her bow, the one that was supposed to be in her ponytail, was clipped in her bangs, keeping them out of her eyes.

 

“Grantaire!” she said, sticking out her tongue at him. “I was almost at a new record! You messed me up!”

 

Grantaire shrugged and grinned sheepishly at her. “Sorry, ‘Chetta. We were playing tag.”

 

“But my _record_!”

 

“No one cares about your crummy record,” Bahorel commented, coming up behind Grantaire and rolling his eyes at her.

 

Musichetta and the girls around her gasped. “You take that back!” Cosette demanded, taking a step toward Bahorel with angry eyes.

 

“It’s true! Everyone else is playing tag or soccer! All you girls ever do is that stupid jump rope!”

 

Another gasp, this time Grantaire even stared at him with an open mouth. “Bahorel, you’re not supposed to say that word,” Musichetta said, but she didn’t sound nearly as surprised as everyone else. Instead, she sounded mad, and Grantaire noticed she was closer than before.

 

“So? What’cha gonna do about it?”

 

Musichetta gave an evil smile. “Take it back, Bahorel. Now.”

 

Bahorel crossed his arms. “No.”

 

Musichetta dropped her jump rope and leapt on Bahorel, knocking him to the ground. She had one leg on either side and was leaning over him, their faces close, and her mouth open.

 

“I’m gonna say it again. Take it back, Bahorel.”

 

Bahorel was obviously not very smart, thought Grantaire, because he shook his head stubbornly. Musichetta made an odd, deep sound and leaned back a little, before leaning forward again with her mouth open and her tongue sticking out. Around him, the girls squealed “Ew!” and Grantaire looked closer to see spit and boogers slipping down closer and closer to Bahorel, who squirmed underneath her.

 

“Take it back!” Grantaire yelled, leaning in. “Take it back, Bahorel!”

 

“Miss Hartman’s coming!” Cosette warned.

 

Before Grantaire could check to see if that was true, the girls were gone, and Musichetta was jumping off of Bahorel, right into Grantaire. She knocked into him hard, making him fall onto the blacktop.

 

By the time Miss Hartman came over, Bahorel was on the ground rubbing his forehead, miserably trying to get the mixture of spit and boogers off of him, while Musichetta hovered over Grantaire, who had dissolved into tears over his ripped shirt and ripped elbow.

 

Musichetta and Bahorel were both put in time out for five minutes. Grantaire got a blue Band-Aid.

 

\---

 

The fourth stain happened at lunch.

 

Lunch was spaghetti and meatballs, but the meatballs were rubbery and cold by the time they started eating, so Grantaire and Bahorel pushed them to the side of their plate and ate around them. The sauce ended up all over Bahorel and Grantaire’s faces as they slurped their noodles up, just like Bahorel’s older brother had taught them how to do. Jehan watched them with horrified expressions as he tried hard to keep from getting his face messy, and Bahorel teased him endlessly for it.

 

Eventually, the teasing was too much for even Jehan, who glared at Bahorel, raised his hand, and tattled on Bahorel. Miss Hartman didn’t say a word as she lifted Bahorel’s plate and placed him at the other table, facing Grantaire, but too far away to talk to.

 

That didn’t stop them for long, though. They had to sit to wait for everyone to finish, and Grantaire and Bahorel spent the time making faces at each other, until Grantaire picked up his spoon thoughtfully. Once Bahorel’s attention was on Cosette, who was clearly letting him know that “there’s a little something on your face… right there…”, Grantaire loaded his spoon with a meatball, and launched it at his friend.

 

It landed right on his nose, and made him freeze for only a moment, before he picked up his own spoon and meatball to hit Grantaire back. The meatball landed on Grantaire’s left shoulder, then Miss Hartman’s shoe.

 

They had to sleep on opposite sides of the room for naptime, and clean all of the tables with soap and water.

 

\---

 

“Grandma! Grandpa!”

 

Grantaire ran at them with open arms, turning the attention of everyone at story time to him, instead of Miss Hartman. His grandpa, the receiver of his attack, grinned and waved at his teacher, then scooped Grantaire up into his arms, while his grandmother grabbed his backpack. It wasn’t until they got to the car and his grandma loaded him into the car seat that she noticed the stains.

 

“What in the _world_ happened to your shirt?” she asked, rubbing helplessly at the stains. Grantaire only shrugged, and she sighed. “And I spent all that time picking it out for you…”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr? freefras.tumblr.com


End file.
